


Get Thee to a Farmery

by SlantedKnitting



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Divorce, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Era, mention of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/pseuds/SlantedKnitting
Summary: Arthur needs a break. Gaius rents him some rooms on a farm.Merlin owns the farm. And he is not conducive to Arthur having a proper holiday.





	1. Chapter One

Arthur was in need of a holiday. He was behind on work—and getting more and more behind by the day—he hated his flat, and he had no social life to speak of. His inspiration had run dry, and he couldn’t bear to face any of his friends. He was miserable.

This desperation had driven him to turn to an old family friend, Gaius, to help him find an appropriate escape. He needed somewhere far from London, somewhere charming and relaxing, and somewhere he could stay for a few weeks to reset himself and get back on track with his writing.

Gaius had come up with a bizarre solution, though, and now Arthur was sat at his desk with his head in his hands, trying to hear the old man out.

“Exeter?” Arthur moaned.

“About there, yes,” Gaius said mildly. “You said you wanted something far.”

“I was thinking Edinburgh,” he admitted. “Didn’t you use to work up there?”

“Yes, but there’s nothing like the Ambrosius Farm up there.”

“Why does it have to be a farm? I was imagining a charming inn or a room in some old dear’s house or, or…”

“You asked for my help,” Gaius said, his voice stern but not unkind. “Ambrosius Farm is a wonderful place. You’ll get plenty of quiet. You’ll be able to relax in your own space. You might even think about helping out with the sheep.”

“Oh, might I?” Arthur muttered.

“Arthur,” Gaius said sharply. “What’s the problem? You asked for something quiet and far away. What’s so wrong with a farm?”

“Nothing,” Arthur said, heaving a sigh. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I’m sure it’s lovely. Honestly, anywhere is better than here. I’m just… I’m just tired. I apologise. I know you’re trying to help.”

“I am. I already spoke to my nephew and he confirmed the back of the house is empty right now. The only thing you’d have to share is the kitchen. And the sheep are actually cute.”

“Surely they’re foul-smelling beasts.”

“That, too,” Gaius conceded. “But you don’t have to spend time with them if you don’t want.”

“I don’t,” Arthur said firmly.

“Then you can stay in the house all day.” Gaius’s impatience was clear.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, rubbing his eyes. “I haven’t slept.”

There was a pause and then Gaius said, his voice low and concerned, “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing going on. I just need a break. I’ll think about the farm, okay? Thanks for looking into it for me.”

“Merlin needs to have the room rented out by the end of the week. Can you let me know by then?”

Arthur felt a little panicked at the thought of having to make a decision so soon, but, on the other hand, he wanted—needed—to get out of London as fast as humanly possible. It would take him a lot of time and effort to research accommodations up in Scotland or anywhere else. Gaius had done him a favour, and, as disgruntled as Arthur was about every aspect of his life, he could acknowledge that.

“Yeah. I mean—I’ll take it. I’ll do it. Just give me the contact information and I’ll phone to confirm.”

“Splendid.”

**~~~~~~**

Merlin barely made it in the front door before the sky completely opened up and immediately drenched the box he’d left on the hood of the car.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he chanted, dropping the bags he’d managed to carry inside and looking around for an umbrella. He couldn’t spot one within five seconds, so he bolted back outside unprotected. He slipped in the fresh mud but managed to grab the box and get back into the house without injury.

“Close call,” Freya said cheerfully as she came into the mud room to watch Merlin assess the damage.

“You could have helped,” Merlin muttered. He carefully pulled open the flaps and sighed in relief when he saw that the inside of the box was mostly dry.

“I just got off the phone,” she explained. “Gaius’s friend who wants the back rooms.”

“Oh?” Merlin hadn’t really heard her. Inside the box were ten copies of a knitting book featuring one of his own patterns. His own entirely original pattern! He was a published knitwear designer, and the damp box held the proof.

“He says he can be here as soon as Saturday. Wasn’t too clear on the details of when he plans to leave, might be a few weeks. He’s some sort of writer. Looking for inspiration, I suppose.”

“Mhm.” Merlin took out one of the books and paged to the table of contents. He located his pattern—‘by Merlin Emrys’ written underneath it—and flipped to the designated page.

The photos were incredible. He glanced through the pattern to make sure it didn’t have any obvious typos or errors, and then he read the little intro he had written for it and the short bio at the end.

“Are you listening?” Freya asked.

“No.” He handed her the book, and she let out a small yelp.

“Oh! Oh, it’s beautiful, Merlin.” She hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. What were you saying?”

“The bloke who wants the back rooms. Gaius gave him your number. He’s coming Saturday, as long as that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” Merlin said, thinking the sooner he had the rooms rented out the sooner he would have the rental income. “Should I phone him back?”

Freya pulled a small note out a pocket on her apron. “I wrote down his info for you.”

“Thanks.” Merlin took the book back from her and placed it carefully back amongst the others. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“I made it, didn’t I?”

Merlin grinned and took the note inside to call Gaius’s friend.

**~~~~~~**

It took Arthur nearly four full hours to reach Ambrosius Farm. By the time he closed in on it, the roads were barely paved and there was nothing but wild growth and fields by way of scenery. His mobile was losing service, the GPS instructions taking longer and longer to load until he gave up and closed out of the app. He hadn’t passed anything that looked like civilisation in about twenty minutes, so he figured he had to be close.

He slowed as he approached something that might have been a drive. As he got closer, he saw a small sign hanging off a low tree branch that read ‘AMBROSIUS DARTMOOR FLOCK’. Arthur didn’t know what a Dartmoor was, and, as he turned down the drive, he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in trusting Gaius.

The first thing he saw was a small, abandoned-looking white stone building. It had a red, dirty-looking roof and overgrown weeds and shrubs all over its sides. Beyond that, to the right, was a large house that looked weathered but at least lived in. To the left were some barn-looking buildings.

Arthur drove to the right and parked in front of the house. No one came out to greet him, so he got out of his car to explore. The first thing he noticed was the smell. He had been right—it was slightly foul. It was very earthy, sort of musty, and distinctly animal. The second thing he noticed was how much colder it was down here than it had been in London.

The third thing was the cat coming out of the house to inspect him.

He crouched down and held out his hand, letting the cat rub its face against it. “Hello,” he said, petting its back. “Are you Mr Emrys?”

“That’s me.”

Arthur looked up to see a man walking up from one of the barns. He stood and brushed off his hand. The cat meowed loudly and rubbed its face on his jeans.

“Don’t be rude,” the man said, leaning down to grab the cat. “Sorry about that,” he said to Arthur.

“It’s no problem.” Arthur held out his hand and the man shifted the cat to one arm to shake it. “I’m Arthur.”

“Merlin. Welcome.”

Arthur nodded, taking in the picture Merlin was presenting. He was wearing overlarge rubber boots and a fleece jumper. He had smudges of dirt on his face, and he didn’t smell any better than the air around him.

He was handsome, though. Everything about his face was a little longer than it should have been—his cheeks, his nose, his ears—but it worked. He looked rugged, with the shaggy brown hair and the hint of a beard. But his blue eyes were bright, his lashes long and delicate, his lips unusually plump for a man.

“How was the trip?” Merlin asked, and Arthur realised he’d been staring.

“Good,” he said, reaching out to pet the cat. “Long. Who’s this?”

“Kilgharrah.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard correctly, but he wasn’t going to ask Merlin to repeat it.

“He’s a grumpy old man,” Merlin said before setting Kilgharrah down. He immediately went back over to rub his face on Arthur’s legs. “Do you want a tour of your rooms?”

“Sure.”

Arthur followed Merlin into the house.

“This is the mud room,” Merlin said, gesturing around the enclosed front porch as he stepped out of his boots. “Kilgharrah mostly lives out here.” Arthur looked around for the cat, but it had stayed outside. “Here’s the kitchen,” Merlin continued, leading Arthur into the house proper. “You’re welcome to use it anytime. I can give you directions into town if you need any groceries.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said, thoroughly charmed by the large farmhouse kitchen. Everything was painted an off-white shade, which made the whole place look slightly dirty even though Arthur could tell it was actually clean. The cupboards were all wooden, the countertops all tile, and there was a small round table in the centre of the room with four chairs around it. There were dishrags hung off half the chairs plus several cupboard knobs and even more flung haphazardly across counters. There were canisters of flour and beans and pasta, there were vases full of wooden spoons, there were stacks of rural lifestyle magazines, and, in the middle of it all, there was Merlin with his thick wool socks.

“I live over here,” Merlin said, pointing out a hallway to the right. “There’s a living room with a telly you’re welcome to watch. And a dining room I never use. Upstairs there’s my room, a guest room, and a bath. Over here is my office,” he said, guiding Arthur into a room on the left. “You can use it if you like but there’s plenty more space upstairs.”

With that, Arthur followed Merlin up a narrow, creaky staircase to the second floor. “That’s me,” Merlin said, pointing out a door that led to his rooms. “And this is you.”

Arthur stepped into the first room and found a sofa, an arm chair, and an empty desk with an old wooden chair.

“Gaius said you’re a writer,” Merlin said, not really asking a question.

“Yeah. This’ll be a fine writing space, thank you.”

“Good. Your bed’s through there,” he said, indicating one of the doors off the sitting room. “Bath as well. There’s some cupboards for all your things, and a dresser if you like. I’m sorry it’s probably not as nice as your London flat.”

“No, it’s fine,” Arthur said quickly, thinking disdainfully of his so-called home. “It’s great. It’s perfect.”

Merlin looked pleased at that. “Well, I’m glad then. Oh!” He went over to the desk and pulled a set of keys out from the top drawer. “I don’t actually lock the house, but just in case.”

“Thanks.”

“Any questions? Anything you need?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Great. I have to get back to work, so I’ll let you get settled. You have my mobile number, right?” Arthur nodded. “Give a ring or text if you need anything.” He held out his hand. “Good meeting you.”

“You as well.”

Arthur waited a few minutes after Merlin excused himself and then went to bring in his things from the car.

**~~~~~~**

That night, Merlin insisted on hosting Arthur for dinner. He served pierogis, explaining that Freya had made them.

“Your staff cook you dinner?” Arthur asked as Merlin pulled out the sour cream.

“Freya cooks us both dinner,” Merlin corrected. “And we eat together. These are leftovers.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Merlin smirked. Arthur had no business asking such a personal question, but he supposed they might as well get to know each other if Arthur was going to stay for an indefinite period of time. “No.”

Once everything was spread out on the table, Merlin joined Arthur and dug into his pierogis immediately. He wasn’t a very fastidious eater. He kept getting smears of sour cream in his beard and bits of burnt pierogi corners in his lap. Arthur, on the other hand, cut up his pierogis with a fork and knife and dipped them gracefully into the sour cream before thoroughly chewing them. It was like a performance. Merlin wondered where and how he’d grown up.

“Gaius said he was an old family friend,” Merlin said, trying to start up a proper conversation.

“Mhm,” Arthur said around a mouthful.

“What’s your family like?”

Arthur swallowed and reached for another pierogi. “My wi—” He cut himself off abruptly and shoved the entire pierogi in his mouth to cover for it.

Merlin wondered if Arthur was on holiday to get away from his wife. What a horrible marriage that would be, he thought, needing weeks apart to stay sane.

Arthur wasn’t wearing a ring, though.

“It’s just me and my sister,” Arthur said once he’d swallowed. “Half sister. Our father passed a few years back. My mum died when I was young, so… it’s just us now.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said.

Arthur shrugged. “Gaius knew my father through work. What about you?”

“Well, I’ve got my mum. I’m an only child. And my dad wasn’t the hanging ‘round type. Gaius is my uncle.”

“Where are you from?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” Merlin said. “Small town. Not even really a town. Just a place.”

“Did you grow up on a farm?”

“Dairy farm, yeah. We had a couple of sheep for fun, and…” Merlin gestured around the kitchen, indicating his own farm. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Arthur agreed. He gave Merlin a look that was difficult to interpret, so Merlin went back to the pierogis.

“Did you say you had a wife?” he asked after a period of silence, figuring it was fair game if Arthur had asked about Freya being his girlfriend.

“No,” Arthur said, looking down at his food.

“Oh. Sorry.”

For a long while, Arthur said nothing. He just sat there, looking beautifully sad with his pouty lips and his elegant cheekbones. Finally, preparing himself another pierogi, he said, “Ex-wife.”

He sounded rather wrecked about it, and Merlin figured it was probably a recent divorce. Maybe that was why Arthur was here, to get away from the reality of that pain for a while.

“Shame,” Merlin said because he didn’t know what else to say. “What kind of writing do you do?”

Arthur floundered a moment at the change in topic before answering. “Mystery, crime, that sort of thing.”

“Oh? I love mysteries, I’ll have to read some of yours.”

Arthur’s smile was rather forced. “I saw some of them in your living room. I was exploring earlier.”

Merlin frowned, trying to remember if he’d ever heard the name Arthur Pendragon before Gaius’s call. “Do you write under a different name?” he guessed.

“Artri Gododdrin.”

Merlin only barely managed not to drop his jaw. “Oh,” he said, trying to recover himself. “Yeah, I’ve… I have read your books. They’re very good.” That was an understatement.

“Thanks.”

“Is Gododdrin Welsh?” Merlin asked. “You don’t sound Welsh.”

“My mother was Welsh,” Arthur said, and the fact that Merlin knew that his mother was dead somehow made that statement weigh more than it would have otherwise.

“My dad was, too,” he said. “What a coincidence.”

“I’m sure other people have Welsh parents,” Arthur said, clearly disinterested in continuing that line of conversation.

Merlin went back to his food, trying to hold back until he knew he would drive himself mad if he didn’t ask. “What are you writing now?”

Arthur sighed, not like he was annoyed at the question but like he was annoyed with his answer. “I shouldn’t talk about it. It’s… new.”

“Well, obviously it’s new,” Merlin pointed out.

Arthur cracked a smile. “Right. It’s, um…” He worried his lower lip with his teeth for a few seconds. “It’s fantasy, actually.”

Merlin thought that made complete sense. He’d read all of Arthur’s books, and the more recent ones had elements of magical realism in them, and fantasy seemed like a logical next step.

“That’s brilliant. Maybe you can have some magical sheep in it.”

Arthur snorted. “Sure. I’ll name them all Merlin.”

“50 magical sheep named Merlin,” Merlin said wistfully. “My wildest dreams come true.”

Arthur laughed but then shoved another whole pierogi in his mouth to mask it.

**~~~~~~**

Arthur spent the next three days in the study outside his bedroom, writing non-stop except when he took breaks to eat and sleep.

The only problem was that it was all trash. He didn’t know what he was doing, and he hated everything he was writing. He’d written one scene at least ten times over, and it was still trash. He had no idea how to write a fantasy novel, and he was starting to forget why he’d even bothered to begin with. He was a mystery writer, and he always had been, and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing now that he was trying his hand at something new.

Rationally, he knew that his work wasn’t all crap and that parts of it were salvageable and that, in the end, he was just nervous about branching out. But it was hard to stay rational when he couldn’t get the grand visions in his head to manifest on the page. He was so used to obfuscating everything that it was difficult to get the descriptions right or to properly lay out a character’s motivations. He kept falling back into his comfort zone and then getting frustrated with the results.

It was exhausting, all this stress. He’d left London specifically to get away from the stress, and all he’d done at Ambrosius Farm was find a different kind of stress to occupy him. He needed a holiday from his holiday.

And that was how he’d found himself wandering down to the barns one afternoon. It didn’t smell good, and his shoes were already dirty, but he needed a break, and there seemed to be only one thing to do besides go into town.

The first thing he found was not sheep, but a stable with a few horses and a small white cow. There was a man brushing one of the horses, and he looked up when Arthur accidentally stepped on the end of a rake and swore as the handle hit him.

“Careful there,” the man said, smiling roguishly. He had long hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a devastating grin accompanied by an army of charming lines around his eyes and bearded mouth.

“Sorry,” Arthur said, rubbing his arm and thinking about the bruise he’d probably get from the stupid rake.

The man let himself out of the stall and came over to move the rake to a safer spot. “I’m Gwaine,” he said, holding out a gloved hand. “Are you the bloke renting Merlin’s rooms?”

“Yeah. Arthur. Nice to meet you.”

“Want to come see the horses?” Gwaine was smiling like he assumed that was why Arthur had come to the stables in the first place. Arthur shrugged and let Gwaine lead him over to the horse he had been brushing. “This here is Shadowfax because our Merlin is a nerd. Then we’ve got Snowmane, Brego, and that pretty boy over there is Fatty Lumpkin.”

“Why is he called Fatty Lumpkin?” Arthur asked, thinking that he didn’t look any fatter than the rest of the horses.

“They’re all _Lord of the Rings_ or _Hobbit_ horse names. Like I said, Merlin is a nerd. He loves fantasy.” Arthur had nothing to say in response to that. “And this is Aithusa,” Gwaine said, moving along to the white cow. “She’s not named after anything in particular, I don’t think.” Arthur reached out and Aithusa let him pet her head. She had a funny little tuft of coarse hair between her ears, but the fur on her long nose was soft. “She’s a sweetheart,” Gwaine said happily, watching Arthur bond.

“I thought this was a sheep farm,” Arthur said after a moment, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

“It is. These are rescues.”

“Rescues?”

“Yeah. Like, someone mistreated them elsewhere, and when they got rescued and needed a new home, Merlin volunteered.” Arthur frowned as he stroked down the side of Aithusa’s neck, trying to imagine why anyone would mistreat a simple cow. “We just do our best to give them better lives than the ones they had before. The horses don’t get ridden or put to work, the cow doesn’t produce any milk, they all just sort of hang out. Want to feed her?”

Arthur nodded, which led to him standing in the stall with Aithusa, holding out a handful of feed while she licked and lipped at his skin. It was both adorable and disgusting.

When the feed was gone, Aithusa nosed his arm, asking for more.

“Sorry, girl,” Arthur said, patting her side.

“Want to make friends with the horses?” Gwaine asked, holding up some carrots.

**~~~~~~**

Merlin plopped down on the sofa, freshly showered, and considered his next move. He wanted to invite Arthur to come watch a DVD with him, but he didn’t think his invitation would be accepted. Arthur had been avoiding him ever since their first dinner together, although Merlin didn’t know why. Maybe it was the ex-wife business. Maybe the pierogis hadn’t been to his liking. Maybe he’d been turned off by the fact that Merlin owned a full collection of his works.

That wouldn’t have been a fair judgement, though. Merlin also owned full collections of several other mystery and crime writers, plus several fantasy writers, plus an entire shelf of knitting pattern books. He had very clear interests, but it wasn’t like he’d known who Arthur was before that dinner.

Not that it mattered. Merlin hadn’t made friends with his last roomer, either. Sometimes people just preferred to keep to themselves. And Arthur was clearly treating this like a business trip, staying cooped up all day with his laptop and, if the endless parade of mugs in the sink and on the drying rack was anything to go by, a serious caffeine addiction.

Merlin got up to grab Arthur’s latest book off his shelves. He’d already read it once, but it had been one of Arthur’s best, and he’d been itching to read it again. With Arthur living in his house, it was impossible to stop thinking about it.

Laying out, Merlin turned to the back of the book to read the author’s biography.

_Artris Gododdrin’s debut novel,_ The Mark of Nimueh _, won the Camelot Prize for First Fiction and the Monmouth Mystery Award. He has since written eight additional novels, including_ To Kill the King _, which won the International Dagger and has been translated into six languages. He lives in London with his wife and dog._

Below that was a short acknowledgements section. 

_I want to thank my friends for their bottomless patience, my wife for her enduring kindness, my sister for pushing me to the limit, and my dog for eating my favourite trainers._

__Merlin snorted. He flipped to the back cover but there was no photo of the author. There never had been, he didn’t think, not on any of his books. Merlin supposed that would have clashed with the idea of a pen name._ _

__Turning to the beginning of the book, Merlin settled in his re-read. This latest book was practically fantasy already. There were witches and spells and made up magical creatures. They were mostly in the background, leaving a trail of hints around the main plot, but they were there. Merlin would have bet money that Arthur’s foray into fantasy proper would be just as engaging as any of his mysteries._ _

__“Would you like some tea?”_ _

__Merlin looked up to see Arthur standing in the doorway of the living room. He bolted up, shoving the book between the cushions as if that wasn’t extremely suspicious._ _

__“Uh… sure,” he said, hoping Arthur wouldn’t be able to see him blushing in the dim light. “Yeah, thanks. That’d be very nice.”_ _

__“What were you reading?” Arthur asked, amused._ _

__“Nothing, just…”_ _

__“Just…” Arthur raised an eyebrow and waited._ _

__“ _A Servant of Two Masters_ ,” Merlin admitted, flushing deeper._ _

__“Oh.” Arthur actually looked pleased. “How are you enjoying it?”_ _

__“I’ve read it once already,” Merlin said. “So… that should give you your answer.”_ _

__Arthur smiled. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll put the kettle on.”_ _

__He disappeared, and Merlin pulled the book back out and smacked himself on the head with it before joining Arthur in the kitchen._ _

__“How’s the new book coming?” he asked, sitting at the table and brushing crumbs from his dinner onto the floor._ _

__Arthur groaned in response. “It’s a nightmare.”_ _

__“I’m sure it’s great. What made you decide to dip into a new genre?”_ _

__Arthur shrugged and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter next to the electric kettle. The pose emphasised his long legs and straight hips, and Merlin forced himself to look away. “I like fantasy.”_ _

__“Yeah? Me, too. I read _Lord of the Rings_ every year. I’ve named all my horses after ones from the books.”_ _

__“Gwaine mentioned. I’ve actually never read those—I hope that doesn’t disqualify me.”_ _

__“When did you meet Gwaine?” Merlin asked, hoping Gwaine hadn’t gone snooping after his guest._ _

__“Yesterday. I went down to the stables to distract myself from the shit storm that is my book.”_ _

__“Gwaine does my website,” Merlin blurted out for some reason. “And other things, obviously. He handles all the bookings for the studio.”_ _

__“What does that mean?”_ _

__“The studio? Oh, we have… well, a studio. People come to knit and spin and whatnot. Gwaine books the instructors, the club meetings, whatever. He usually handles the sales as well, he’s much more charming than I am.”_ _

__“I don’t know about that,” Arthur said kindly, and Merlin felt his ears burning. “That sounds interesting, though. Is that what you do with all the sheep? Turn them into yarn?”_ _

__Merlin laughed. “We don’t turn the sheep into yarn, no. We shear the sheep and turn their wool into yarn.”_ _

__“Right, that’s… what I meant,” Arthur said unconvincingly._ _

__“But, yes, that’s what the sheep are for,” Merlin explained. “We have it processed nearby, and then we’ve got some regulars who come and either make things with it or write their own patterns inspired by it. Or they just stitch and bitch, that’s probably mostly what it is. Sometimes we bring in instructors for local kids. Once Gwaine even booked another farm to come sell for the day. It’s an interesting space.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Arthur agreed. “That’s kind of fascinating. I had no idea what went on at a sheep farm.”_ _

__“It’s not the most exciting,” Merlin teased. “But it’s home.”_ _

__“Do you knit?”_ _

__“Yeah.” Merlin watched as the kettle clicked off and Arthur set about pouring them some tea. Arthur joined him at the table, sliding one mug across it as he blew into his own. “I actually just got published.”_ _

__“Published… for knitting?” Arthur asked._ _

__“For a pattern I designed. If you sign one of your books, I’ll give you a copy. Not that that’s much of a trade off.”_ _

__“I’ll sign your books,” Arthur said easily. “When I leave, so I can write you a message or something. I don’t have much to say right now except ‘thanks for letting me deplete your tea supply,’ and that’s not something you need for posterity.”_ _

__“No,” Merlin agreed, grinning into his mug._ _

__“I’ll buy more next time I go into town,” Arthur said. “I’ve really been having too much.”_ _

__“You can help yourself. There’s plenty for both of us.”_ _

__Arthur gave him a soft smile, and Merlin went back to his tea, his ears burning again._ _

__

____

**~~~~~~**

Arthur woke up early, a rooster literally startling him awake with its early morning screams. It would have been charming if it weren’t for the fact that Arthur had panicked so much at the noise that he nearly fell out of his bed. The adrenaline rush was enough to properly rouse all his senses, so he got up.

After getting dressed, he went down to the kitchen to get make some tea and maybe scramble some of Merlin’s fresh eggs.

Gwaine was there, looking groggy, already hovering over the kettle.

“Morning,” he said around a yawn.

“Morning,” Arthur said, wondering what the hell he was doing there. Merlin had mentioned that sometimes his staff slept in the guest room if they stayed too late or were too lazy to go home after a long shift, but Arthur hadn’t heard anyone else in the house the night before. “Did you stay over?”

“Mhm,” Gwaine said, yawning again.

“Do you stay a lot? I work from home, but I feel like if I didn’t, it would be weird to stay in the guest bedroom of what would essentially be my office.”

Gwaine snorted. “That’d be rather rude if Merlin made me sleep in the guest room. I don’t snore that loudly.”

It took a moment for Gwaine’s words to sink in. “Oh,” Arthur said stupidly. “Right. Sorry.”

Gwaine shrugged and poured Arthur a cup of tea first and then one for himself.

“Did that fucking rooster wake you up?” Gwaine guessed, slumping down at the table.

Arthur stayed standing near the stove. “Yeah. He’s… exceptionally loud.”

“I’ll say. Somehow Merlin always sleeps through it. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him it’s a bloody nuisance.”

Arthur murmured in agreement and took a sip of his still too-hot tea.

“What are you up to today?” Gwaine asked.

“Need to go into town to buy some groceries. I owe Merlin like three boxes of tea.”

“You and me both,” Gwaine said laughing. “He doesn’t care.”

Arthur shrugged. “I need some food, anyway.” When Gwaine didn’t respond to that, Arthur excused himself and went back up to his rooms.

**~~~~~~**

Merlin was in bed, lying on his stomach, reading through _A Servant of Two Masters_ in the privacy of his own room so Arthur wouldn’t catch him again. Not that he’d seen Arthur for several days. Gwaine had mentioned seeing him the other morning, but Arthur had been a ghost since then.

There were signs of him—dishes in the sink, a steadily shrinking tea collection, the sounds of the shower running—but he himself was nowhere.

Part of Merlin wondered if maybe seeing Gwaine in the morning had been too much.

Another part of Merlin knew that that was ridiculous. Arthur was from London and was a perfectly reasonable man and always had at least one gay character in all of his books.

Always.

Merlin had often wondered if Artris Gododdrin was gay. Most other authors didn’t pay that much attention to the diversity of their supporting characters. Arthur had always seemed to care about representation, though. He had queer characters, characters of colour, disabled characters, characters who fit multiple demographics. It was one the reasons why Merlin liked his books so much.

He’d never bothered to read the biographical section before, otherwise he would have noticed all the references to Gododdrin’s wife. Merlin had glanced through the bios in all of Arthur’s books and every single one of them mentioned either a wife or a girlfriend, meaning they had probably been together since before Arthur’s first book had been published nearly a decade ago.

If Arthur wasn’t gay himself, presumably he had gay friends that he was trying to include in his worlds. Finding out that Merlin sometimes slept with Gwaine shouldn’t have led to the silent treatment.

Except that Merlin didn’t know how else to interpret it.

Deciding that he didn’t want to live with a ghost, Merlin got up, put on his slippers, and went down the hall to Arthur’s rooms. He knocked, and it took a moment, but, eventually, he heard a soft ‘come in.’

Merlin opened the door to the study and found Arthur at the desk, staring at his laptop in the dark.

“That can’t be good for your eyes,” Merlin said, turning on the overhead light.

Arthur murmured his agreement and looked up. He looked exhausted, and it was a surprisingly good look on him. “I didn’t notice.”

“Didn’t notice the sun had gone down?”

Arthur nodded. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding Merlin after all. Maybe he was in a writing k-hole.

“Did you have dinner?” Merlin asked.

“Uh… no. I’ll get something in a bit. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Come on. I’ll make you something.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Merlin insisted, smiling. “Come on. Take a break.”

Arthur sighed but stood and followed Merlin down to the kitchen.

“I’ve got some soup I can warm up,” Merlin offered. “It’s not as good as anything Freya makes, but it won’t kill you.”

Arthur nodded and sat down at the table. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes, looking defeated.

“Not going well?” Merlin guessed as he pulled the soup out of the fridge. He poured some into a pot and set it on the stove over low heat.

“Going about as bad as it could be.”

“What it’s about?” Merlin asked, sitting across from Arthur.

Arthur shrugged. “Fuck if I know. I thought it was going in one direction, but… it’s so boring. It’s so boring, Merlin. I’m bored just thinking about it. I need to change it, but I don’t know what to change it too. I haven’t had a block this bad in… well, I had another one recently, but before that it was years.”

“What helped you get past it last time?”

“Divorce,” Arthur said bitterly.

“I’d offer to marry you, but somehow I don’t think that would fix the problem.”

“No,” Arthur said without cracking a smile.

“Well, if there is anything I can do to help…”

Arthur shrugged. “Pluck out my eyes, maybe. Then I wouldn’t have to see what I’ve written.”

“Might be a bit extreme. I could take you on a proper tour tomorrow, if you like. You could meet the sheep. Might help to take your mind off things for a bit.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, and Merlin stood to stir the soup.

“That wouldn’t be a bother?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Merlin reassured him.

“Then thanks, yeah. That’d be very nice.”

Merlin shot Arthur a smile and doled out the soup.

**~~~~~~**

“The ducks aren’t mine,” Merlin explained as he led the way to a large field. “They just like the pond.”

“Could you even keep ducks?” Arthur wondered out loud. “Wouldn’t they just fly away?”

“I suppose, but if you make them a home, they’d stay. Apparently this pond is their home now.”

“It’s the same ducks every day?”

“Every day,” Merlin confirmed. “Every year.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Their markings,” Merlin said, as if it was normal to memorise the markings on dozens of ducks.

“The rabbits aren’t yours either, I suppose,” Arthur said, taking a detour to the large hutch he’d spotted. It was fully enclosed by a tall wire fence, and he could see a pile of different coloured bunnies huddled inside.

“The rabbits are mine,” Merlin said. “Have you ever held an Angora?”

“What’s an Angora?”

Merlin grinned and opened the gate, ushering Arthur inside before any of the rabbits could escape. Sticking his upper body in the hutch’s opening, Merlin explained, “A type of rabbit. They have incredibly soft fur.” He stood back up, holding what looked like a cloud. “Here.”

Arthur reached out and made an embarrassing high-pitched noise when he petted it. It was the softest, most delicate thing he’d ever laid hands on. Its fur was barely there at all, it was so wispy and light and so unbelievably unbearably soft.

“Take it,” Merlin said.

Arthur lifted the rabbit carefully and held it against his chest, stroking its back while its nose twitched.

“We turn them into yarn as well,” Merlin said, grabbing hold of another, darker rabbit. “The Angora ones, I mean. These ones are just…” He booped the rabbit on the nose and it headbutted his hand in either retaliation or affection. “Just for fun.”

Arthur looked down at the rabbit in his arms and felt his chest seize tight. He felt so protective of the small thing, almost like it was a baby. He hurried to give it back to Merlin.

“Do they have names?” he asked to cover for the fact that he’d just panicked while holding an innocent bunny.

“Some do. The ones we’ve had the longest. That’s Mabel in the corner there,” he said, gesturing toward a small grey one. “The biggest Angora is Butch. And where’s… oh, there, hiding behind the black one. That’s Hunith, named after my mum.”

Arthur looked over all the rest of the nameless rabbits and decided he was done. “They’re lovely,” he said, and it was true. “Shall we continue to the sheep?”

Merlin agreed and escorted Arthur down a dirt path until they came to a long fence.

“There they are,” he said, pointing out to the pasture. “Doing whatever it is they do out there.”

“Grazing, surely?”

“More like gossiping, I like to think,” Merlin said, leaning on the fence. “They make a lot of noise.”

“And smells.”

“And smells,” Merlin agreed.

Arthur leant on the fence as well, taking in the scenery. Even though he knew the barns and stables and Merlin’s house were behind him, the only thing he could see in this direction was grass and sheep.

The sheep were bigger than Arthur had anticipated, although he supposed a lot of their bulk might just be wool. Their fur looked thick, matted, and curly.

“They’re, um… they’re beautiful?”

Merlin laughed. “They’re not really, but I love them anyway.”

“50 magical sheep all named Merlin.”

Merlin grinned and turned to look at Arthur. He seemed to lose whatever he was going to say, and then his gaze dropped to Arthur’s lips. Arthur licked them self-consciously, and Merlin turned back toward the flock, the tips of his ears going red.

Arthur looked down at the mud at the bottom of the fence, not sure what had just happened. Maybe—

Maybe…

No, he thought. There wasn’t really a maybe. Merlin had just got distracted by his lips.

Arthur looked up and glanced over at Merlin as surreptitiously as he could. He had noticed Merlin’s lips—plump as they were—within the first minute of being introduced. He hadn’t given them much thought since then, though. Now, out here in the cold and the wind, they looked dry and bitten.

He had a nice profile, though. A very nice profile, with the long lines of his face cutting an excellent image against the grey sky.

Arthur looked back at the sheep. He couldn’t let himself go down that road. That wasn’t why he was here. He was here for the opposite, actually. He was here to escape all of that.

It would be easier if he didn’t know about Gwaine.

**~~~~~~**

“Is it all right if a friend comes to visit?” Arthur asked, catching Merlin in the living room one evening about three weeks into his stay.

Merlin looked up from the telly. He hadn’t seen Arthur in what felt like a week, but was probably more like three or four days. He’d seen less and less of Arthur as time went on, and he’d given up on guessing why. Maybe Arthur was making better progress on his book and needed to focus all of his energy on that. Maybe Arthur hadn’t appreciated the way Merlin had been drooling all over his full lips. Maybe he’d become nocturnal.

“I’d put him up in the study, the sofa’s comfy enough. Just for a weekend.”

“Sure,” Merlin said, wondering if Arthur would become any less of a mystery if Merlin got to see him interact with another human. “That’s fine. He can stay in the guest room if you’d like.”

“Really?”

Merlin shrugged. “That’s what it’s for. Guests.”

“Thanks.” Arthur flashed him a smile. “I’ll let you know when he’s coming.”

It turned out to only be two days later, and Arthur’s friend—Lance—turned out to be just as handsome and charming as Arthur was. And also as anti-social, as he spent nearly the whole weekend locked up in the study with Arthur. Every once in a while, Merlin could hear raised voices coming from the study, as if they were arguing or maybe acting out a particularly intense scene from Arthur’s novel, but that was almost the only sign that there was anyone else in the house.

On the last night of Lance’s visit, Merlin went out to a local pub with Gwaine and came home late when Gwaine got a migraine from the alcohol and couldn’t play host. He found Kilgharrah in the mud room, asleep in a Wellington. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen the cat do, and he tried to take a picture but it was too dark and he didn’t want to use the flash for risk of waking him.

He went into the kitchen to make tea instead.

Arthur and Lance were in the living room, arguing over what to watch on the telly.

“Just fucking pick something,” Arthur snapped at his friend. “You’re a nightmare.”

“I didn’t have to come here, you know.”

“Then why did you?”

“I’m worried about you,” Lance said like he’d said it a thousand times before.

“I told you—I’m fine. I’m working on my book, I’m taking a proper holiday away from the city, I’ve got… I’ve got sheep. I’m fine.”

“You know it’s not normal to need to take a month-long holiday from the city, right?”

“So?”

“So,” Lance said, sounding pained, “it’s worrisome. You’re worrisome.”

“I swear to God, Lance—”

“If you would just—”

“What?” Arthur asked, practically shouting. “If I would just what?”

“If you would just talk to me,” Lance pleaded. “I’m not saying I can fix things, I’m saying it’s unhealthy for you to keep everything so ferociously secret. Whatever fucking happened to you, I don’t care. You’re my mate, and I just want to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Arthur said, his voice tense.

“You’re not.”

There was a long silence, and Merlin realised he was stood in the middle of his kitchen, empty mug in hand, eavesdropping. He hurried to put the kettle on, hoping the click would alert Arthur and Lance to his presence.

It must not have, though, because after a minute, Lance said, “I know what you and Gwen went through was difficult. I mean, I don’t know, obviously, what it was like. I can only imagine. But I know it wasn’t easy on either of you.”

“No,” Arthur said quietly.

“You’ve never talked about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You need to,” Lance said imploringly. “If you would just—”

“Do you know what I fucking felt when it happened?” Arthur asked. His voice had a dangerous edge to it, and Merlin moved closer to the counter to make sure he wouldn’t be spotted. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” Lance said defiantly.

“I felt like—like I would rather be dead. Like it should have been me. Like death would be better than feeling so fucking shredded. And then, do you know what I felt after that?” There was another long pause. “Relief. I was fucking relieved, Lance. Relieved that I wasn’t going to have to be stuck in that marriage. Is that what you want to hear?”

“If that’s the truth, then yes.”

“Well—you’ve heard it. Can we pick a bloody show to watch already?”

“No. You still haven’t told me why. Why, Arthur? Why were you so relieved to get away from her after all those years?”

“You don’t get to know everything,” Arthur said, his voice so quiet that Merlin nearly didn’t catch it. “I need air.”

Before Merlin had time to think about where to hide, Arthur was storming through the kitchen toward the mud room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Merlin standing near the kettle. It clicked off, and Merlin jumped a little at the noise.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something—to apologise, maybe—but then Lance came through the kitchen as well. Arthur rolled his eyes and went through the mud room to escape outside.

Lance followed, and Merlin poured himself some tea and went to go hide in his room.

**~~~~~~**

Arthur nearly screamed when Lance followed him outside. He went straight for the stables, hoping Lance would get lost in the dark on the way. He didn’t, of course, and a few minutes later the two of them were glaring at each other amongst the dim moonlit stalls.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Lance said gently.

“Will you tell me something?” Arthur asked, his heart pounding. He forced himself to unclench his fists.

“Of course.”

“Did you…” Arthur swallowed. “Did you come here to ask me permission to be with Gwen?”

Lance looked like he’d been slapped. He didn’t deny it, though. “I’m worried about you,” he said for what felt like the billionth time. “You’re my friend. You haven’t been yourself for months, and… and… and I’m worried about you.”

“You mentioned.” Arthur went over to Aithusa. She stuck her head over the gate, and Arthur gave her ears a tug.

“Arthur.”

Arthur closes his eyes, wondering if he should just get it over with. Now was as good a time as any. Lance was always going to be the first to know. “I’m gay,” he said, speaking to Aithusa. “All right? Can we drop it?”

“Sure,” Lance said after a painfully long pause. “Yeah, we—yeah. Yeah.”

Arthur sighed, his hands trembling, and leant against the gate. He was exhausted. He was tired of fighting with Lance, he was tired of fighting with his writing, he was tired of fighting with himself. He had gone on holiday to make peace with himself, and what had he done so far? Write a heap of nonsense and alienate himself from his best friend.

“Don’t tell her.”

“What?” Lance asked, stepping closer to hear better.

“You can’t tell her.”

Lance scoffed. “Arthur, she needs—”

“To hear it from me,” Arthur finished for him. “You can’t tell her.”

“When were you planning to tell her? When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Arthur—”

“Lance. I can’t keep having this conversation. I need—I need sleep. I need you to wake up in the morning and pretend you never heard any of this. And I need you to not tell Gwen.”

“I won’t tell her,” Lance agreed. “But you need to, and soon. It’s not fair to her. She doesn’t understand what happened.”

“Have you seen her?” Arthur stroked under Aithusa’s large chin.

“Yes. She’s… she’s confused, and she’s angry. You’ve had a perfectly reasonable explanation this whole time, and it’s not right to keep it from her.”

“I don’t owe anyone this, okay?” Arthur looked up. “I don’t. That’s not how this works. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”

Lance nodded. He looked like he wanted to keep arguing the point, but, luckily, he stayed quiet.

Arthur turned back to the cow, imagining Gwen weeping about the divorce in Lance’s arms. They had always been close. He wondered how long it would take for them to get together. He wondered if he would be able stomach seeing them that way. He might not be in love with her, but she had been his wife, and he was having a harder time letting go of that than he had thought he would.

“For the record,” Lance said, and Arthur startled slightly when he realised Lance had come over to stand next to him and pat Aithusa, “I don’t give a fuck if you’re gay.”

Arthur had to laugh. “Thanks, mate.”

**~~~~~~**

In the morning, Merlin watched from his bedroom window as Arthur and Lance hugged for an impressively long time before Lance got into his car to head back to London. Arthur stayed outside for a few minutes, staring after Lance’s car, and Merlin headed downstairs when he saw Arthur coming back inside.

He managed to intercept Arthur in the kitchen.

“Breakfast?” he asked. Arthur looked like he wanted to decline the offer, but instead he nodded and let Merlin cook them up eggs and bacon. “How was your visit?” Merlin asked as he scrambled the eggs.

Arthur didn’t immediately answer, pretending to be occupied with the kettle. “Good,” he said eventually. “Sorry you walked into that last night.”

“It’s fine. Did you make up?” Arthur nodded, and they stayed silent while Merlin continued cooking. “How’s the book coming?” Merlin asked once they were settled at the table.

“Better, I suppose,” Arthur said. “If only due to sheer willpower. It was nice to see Lance… I think it helped to get my head on straight. I haven’t been having the easiest go of it.”

“Of writing?”

“Of life.”

“The divorce?” Merlin guessed.

Arthur nodded. “Amongst other things, yeah. It’s been a rough year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” Arthur muttered, shrugging. “It’s… yeah. I don’t know. I don’t know where I was going with that thought.” He yawned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much.”

“Were you up late arguing?”

“Not arguing,” Arthur said quietly. “Just talking.”

“Your friend seemed nice. You’re welcome to have him back.”

“Hopefully I won’t be staying so long as to need another visit.”

Merlin was a little disappointed to hear that. “Are you thinking of leaving soon?”

“Not really, no. I’d like to at least have a solid outline for this stupid book before I go.”

“What do you have so far?”

“30,000 words of trash,” Arthur said, smiling. “And no outline.”

“Would it help to get a second opinion?” Merlin offered.

“About what?”

“Your trash. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. I could look over it, if you want, like, a totally biased ego boost.”

Arthur chuckled, looking bashful. “Ah. Thanks for the offer. I don’t usually like anyone to see something when it’s this level of in progress. I’m not even sending chapters to my editor yet.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where I live.”

Arthur smirked. “I’ll try not to lose your address.”

**~~~~~~**

A week later, Arthur was actually, legitimately enjoying the writing process. He had a direction for the plot, characters who were finally taking shape in his head, and a sense of forgiveness for all the absolute shit he’d written up until now.

He kept thinking about Merlin’s offer to read it, but every time he seriously considered it, his insides would start squirming. The only person besides his editor who ever looked at his work before he was finished and comfortable with it was his ex-wife. As nice as Merlin was, he and Arthur certainly didn’t have anything close to that kind of relationship.

They barely even knew each other. Although, that was mostly Arthur’s fault, as he had been keeping so much to himself in his rooms. He was here to work, though, so he tried not to feel too bad about it. Except that he was also here to relax and have a holiday from his regular life, and making new friends and having new experiences should probably be a part of that.

Arthur was getting some of that in. He’d been to the stables, gone to see the sheep, met both Gwaine and Freya, and even sat in on a knitting class one day when he’d been too desperately bored to keep writing.

He thought he would have liked to get to know Merlin more, but on the other hand, it was probably safer to not. He was attractive, and, if the lips incident was anything to go by, attracted to Arthur, and Arthur had no idea what to do with any of that. He hadn’t come here to dive into a romance with his landlord. He hadn’t come here for anything of the sort. He’d come here to prove to himself that he was still, well, himself. That he could still write, that he could still exist, that he could still enjoy life as a gay man and without Gwen. He didn’t need a farm affair to prove all of that.

Even if he did kind of want it. A lot.

**~~~~~~**

The next weekend, Merlin managed to persuade Arthur to join him and Gwaine for a drinking game in the living room.

“Okay,” Gwaine said, setting up the DVD. “Every time Jack or Rose say each other’s name, you drink.”

Once the film was up and running, Gwaine joined Arthur and Merlin on the sofa, plopping himself down between them and immediately draping his arm over Merlin’s thigh. Merlin glanced over and saw Arthur looking at Gwaine’s arm out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t looking.

Merlin shifted a little, but Gwaine just followed his movement, staying close. He took a gulp of whisky and saw Arthur doing the same on the other side of the sofa.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this since it came out,” Arthur said, his eyes on the telly.

“Merlin watches it constantly,” Gwaine complained.

“Not constantly. Just… sometimes.”

“Sometimes like once a month.”

“Like once every other month,” Merlin corrected. “And I never force you to watch it with me.”

“No, but it’s hard not think about it. I’ll be at home, minding my own business, and you’ll text and tell me you’re watching fucking _Titanic_ again, and then I have to continue with my life knowing that.”

“Sorry to be such a burden.”

Gwaine smirked and gave Merlin’s thigh a squeeze.

It didn’t take long for the three of them to get drunk, even after the big dinner they’d had and the crisps they were snacking on. Arthur switched to water at one point, but after his glass was empty he refilled it with yet another round of whisky.

“I put the diamond in the coat,” Gwaine said, his voice flat and monotone. “I put the coat on her.”

“You definitely should have been cast as Cal,” Merlin said, laughing into his glass. “Such a passionate performance.”

“I thought you said Merlin didn’t make you watch this,” Arthur said, speaking for the first time in quite a while.

“He doesn’t,” Gwaine said. “Sometimes I like to live on the wild side.”

“The wild side?” Arthur asked.

“The wild wet and dirty nerdy side of Merlin Emrys.”

Arthur snorted, and Merlin flicked Gwaine’s arm. Gwaine just grinned and dropped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin leaned into his embrace even though he was overheating from the alcohol and the close contact.

Arthur excused himself to the loo, and Merlin sank further into the sofa cushions.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked Gwaine.

“Can’t drive home like this,” Gwaine pointed out.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked again.

Gwaine chuckled silently. “I’ll stay with you,” he said, his voice low in Merlin’s ear. “I’ll stay with my dick in your arse until we fall asleep like that.”

Merlin choked a little on his whisky. “That’s absurd.”

“You’re absurd.”

Merlin murmured his agreement and reached out to rest his hand on Gwaine’s knee. Arthur’s gaze went straight to that point of contact when he returned. Merlin couldn’t read Arthur’s expression, though, and he moved his hand back to his own lap.

“Hurry Jack,” Gwaine went back to reciting the film. “Hurry, Jack! Hurry! Hurry, Jack!”

All three of them took long drinks in accordance with the rules they’d set up.

“This dialogue is terrible,” Arthur pointed out.

“I doubt that was in the script,” Merlin said. “There’s no way anyone would write that way. You don’t write that way.”

“Of course I don’t.”

Gwaine looked over. “You’re a writer?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, shrugging.

“Anything I might have read?” Gwaine pressed.

Merlin reached over his head to pull one of Arthur’s books off the shelf. He handed it over to Gwaine, and Gwaine made a sort of undignified snorting sound.

“You’re Artris Gododdrin? This one’s your biggest fan,” he said, meaning Merlin.

“I know. I keep worrying it’ll turn into some kind of _Misery_ situation when I finally leave.”

“Hey!” Merlin said, too drunk to be truly offended. “I would never break your ankle.”

Arthur pretended to gag. “That’s the worst ever scene. It gives me the chills just thinking about it.”

“The heebie-jeebies,” Gwaine agreed.

“The screaming meemies,” Merlin added.

“The horkel snorkels,” Arthur suggested.

Merlin burst out laughing. “The what?”

“The hoobly dooblys,” Arthur continued. “The wiggly wagglys. The hangle crangles. The… the grumpy dumpys.”

“That last one sounds unpleasant,” Gwaine said as Merlin continued giggling against him. “There’s probably pills for that.”

“Hope so,” Arthur said, looking pleased at Merlin’s continued amusement.

When the quartet started playing on the deck in the midst of chaos and panic, Gwaine made a big show of pulling a packet of tissues out of his pocket and presenting them to Merlin.

“I’m not going to cry,” Merlin insisted, even though he knew that was probably untrue.

“Sure you aren’t. Just like you didn’t cry last time. Or the time before that.”

“Shut up. You cried the once.”

“Once,” Gwaine said emphatically. “Just the once.”

“Whatever. You know you’re crying on the inside.”

“Sure,” Gwaine said, patting Merlin’s knee. “Sure I am. I’ll be right back.” He got up and walked out, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone on the sofa.

“Do you really watch this that often?” Arthur asked a few minutes later.

“Not anymore. I used to watch it pretty often. Now it’s like two, maybe three or four times a year. Gwaine just likes to take the piss.”

“He does seem to enjoy it,” Arthur said, lolling his head toward Merlin. “You seem to enjoy it, too.”

Merlin flushed for some reason. “I guess. I mean, yeah. Um. You know we’re not, like, together, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Me and Gwaine. We just, sometimes—sometimes we sleep together, but it’s not, like—we’re not together.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Merlin didn’t know why he’d felt the need to say that. He didn’t know what he was doing. Why on earth would Arthur give a single shit about whether or not Merlin was dating Gwaine or anyone else.

“That’s…” Arthur trailed off, and Merlin looked over at him. “That’s good.”

“Good?”

Arthur shrugged, staring resolutely at the telly.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, surprised to hear himself whispering. “Do you… are you…”

“Yeah.”

Merlin licked his lips, not entirely sure what he had been asking and even less sure what Arthur had answered.

“I mean,” he tried again, “why is it good?”

Arthur just shrugged again.

“Were you jealous?”

“No,” Arthur said quickly. Too quickly.

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Merlin said.

“I need some more water,” Arthur said, getting up.

Merlin thought he could probably stand to drink some water as well. He pushed himself off the sofa and found Arthur leaning over the sink.

“Are you going to be sick?” Merlin asked, rushing over to make sure he was okay. He put his hand on Arthur’s back.

“No,” Arthur said quietly, tensing under Merlin’s hand. “Just thinking.”

“About being sick?”

“About you.”

Merlin dropped his hand, thinking he must have misheard. Arthur straightened up and turned to look at Merlin, and Merlin realised he hadn’t misheard at all. Arthur was staring, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed and his lips full and distracting.

Merlin took a breath, the sound cutting through the room.

Arthur shifted slightly, just barely moving, until his hand was brushing Merlin’s.

“Movie over?” Gwaine asked, appearing in the doorway.

Merlin turned away from Arthur. “Not on your life.” He grabbed Gwaine’s arm and pulled him back into the living room.

Arthur didn’t return from the kitchen, and after a while Merlin heard his footsteps retreating upstairs.

“You know he fancies you, right?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin sighed and took a sip of his whisky since he’d forgotten to actually get water. “Don’t.”

“Why not? Maybe he’d be interested in a threesome.”

Merlin groaned and turned up the volume to get Gwaine to stop talking. “Don’t,” he said again.

Gwaine shrugged and wrapped his arm back around Merlin’s shoulders.

**~~~~~~**

Arthur woke up hung over and absolutely hating the fact that he had no escape. He had no where he could go to get away from Merlin. He had no where he could go to get away from the reality of what he’d done the night before.

He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He’d never done this before. He’d never done anything even close to this before. Gwen had been the one to ask him out all those years ago. Before her, there had only been a handful of short, meaningless flings that seemed to have started of their own accord. He didn’t know how to properly hit on someone.

Not that he should be hitting on anyone, least of all Merlin. Because this was Merlin’s home, and he was a guest, and he wouldn’t be able to avoid Merlin forever. He’d done a decent job of that so far, but there would always be mornings or evenings where they came across each other in the kitchen or in the living room, or even in the barn when Arthur went to pay a visit to Aithusa. There was no escaping Merlin, no escaping the can of worms he’d opened, no escaping the fact that he really, truly fancied Merlin and apparently wanted to act on that.

He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t let himself. He wasn’t here for that. He wasn’t ready for that. He’d only just come to terms with all of this, and he needed more time to sort through his own feelings about it. He needed time to come out to his friends and to his sister. He needed time to not flinch every time he thought about kissing Merlin.

“Fuck,” Arthur groaned and covered his eyes with his hands, trying to push away those thoughts. He couldn’t.

He just couldn’t. Not when he was a guest in Merlin’s home, not when Merlin already had something going on with Gwaine—even if it wasn’t a relationship—not when Arthur had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel this tied up in knots about this. He just wanted a simple holiday with sheep and a white cow and time to work on his book. That was what he had signed up for. He had not signed up for a torturous crush on a handsome farmer.

**~~~~~~**

A full week went by with barely any sign of Arthur. Merlin did his best not to notice. He’d stayed inside his rooms for days on end before, and there was no reason why this time should be different. Except for that moment in the kitchen, and the moment before it on the sofa, and all the moments that had led up to those moments.

It would have been easier if Arthur had seemed at all willing to discuss it. But he’d barely said anything that night, let alone since then. Maybe he wasn’t actually attracted to Merlin, and Merlin was the one making things weird. Or maybe he wasn’t comfortable with his attraction to Merlin, what with the the fact that he’d been married to a woman. Maybe he’d never been with a man.

Not that that mattered. None of it really mattered because it didn’t seem like anything would come of it. Arthur clearly wasn’t going to pursue anything, and Merlin wasn’t going to push it. Even though he wanted it. But even if he couldn’t have it, he still wanted to go back to being friendly. He hated feeling like he was living with the ghost of a bad decision.

He spent every evening camped out in the living room, and all he got was a brief glimpse of Arthur in the kitchen one night. Even just that quick sighting was enough to set Merlin’s heart thumping, and he hated the realisation of how bad he wanted Arthur.

“Hey,” Arthur said, sticking his head in the living room.

Merlin scrambled to mute the telly. “Hey! Hey. How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m… I’m good. I was thinking of leaving this weekend, if that’s enough time for you to line someone else up.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, even though it wasn’t. “That’s fine.”

Arthur nodded and, giving a small wave, disappeared back upstairs.


	2. Chapter Two

Arthur found himself alone at Gaius’s Christmas party, standing near the bookshelves with a drink in his hand and no one to talk to. He’d been chatting with Lance, but Lance had disappeared to get another drink and had never come back. He’d been chatting with Alice, Gaius’s “friend,” but she’d gotten pulled away and into some other conversation. He’d been chatting with Leon, his editor, but then Leon had got a call and excused himself.

So, despite his best effort, Arthur found himself alone. He turned to look at the books, his eyes immediately seeking out his pen name. Of course Gaius had a first edition hard cover copy of all of his books.

“Arthur?”

Arthur froze, a chill rolling down his spine as he recognised that voice.

Gaius hadn’t mentioned she would be coming to the party. Although, maybe it had been naive to assume otherwise.

Arthur took a quick swig of his drink before turning to face his ex-wife.

“Gwen,” he said as pleasantly as he could. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I only just arrived. Lance is getting me a drink.”

Arthur nodded, gripping his glass so hard he thought it might break.

Gwen looked good. She was wearing a cute dress, she’d done up her hair, and she seemed happy.

It was a drastically different look than the last time he’d seen her, crying and throwing things at him.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Good,” he said automatically. “Good. And you?”

Gwen nodded. “I’m good. I’m glad to see you.”

“Really?”

Gwen glared at him. “As glad as I can be. I was hoping to… to borrow you for a moment.”

“For what?” Arthur asked warily.

“A private conversation.”

Arthur sighed and shrugged, feeling like he couldn’t decline. He followed her into the garden even though it was too cold outside.

“I just needed you to know,” she said, diving right in. “Lance wanted to be the one to tell you, but I don't want to wait.”

Arthur held up a hand. “You don’t have to say it. I… I figured this would happen.”

Gwen frowned and looked out into the night. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want to end up with your best friend.”

“Me neither,” Arthur admitted. “But I know you make each other happy.”

Gwen nodded and glanced back at him. “Can we be civil about this? I don’t imagine we’ll be able to avoid each other forever.”

“No,” Arthur agreed. “I promise I’ll play nice.”

“Thank you.” Gwen turned to leave, but Arthur reached out and grabbed her arm, keeping her there.

“Wait,” he said. “I have—I need… I need to tell you something, too.”

“I really don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Gwen said cooly.

“Please. I know I… I know I acted badly. You have every right to be angry with me. But I need you to know why I did what I did.”

“Oh?” Gwen asked, her expression tight. “After all this time you’re finally going to tell me?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because I wasn’t ready.”

“You weren’t ready to tell me, but you were ready to act on it?”

“Yes.”

Gwen sighed and reached out for his drink, and he let her take it. She drained it quickly. “Well?”

“Well,” Arthur repeated. “I…” Gwen sighed again. “I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “I want you to know that I never meant for this to happen. I loved being with you, and I hated having to hurt you. But I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Why not?” Gwen demanded. “What about me—”

“It’s nothing you did,” Arthur insisted. They’d had this conversation before. “It’s nothing about you.”

“No,” Gwen agreed. “Clearly not. Clearly I’m perfect, and that’s why you left me.”

“I’m gay, Gwen,” he said before he could lose his nerve. “I’m—I’m gay. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure, for a long time. I thought maybe… maybe I could still be with a woman—with you—but when… fuck. When it happened, I realised I needed out. I couldn’t… I just couldn’t anymore. And I’m so sorry.”

Gwen looked like she wanted to set Gaius’s house on fire. “What the fuck, Arthur?”

“I know. I’m… I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why the hell couldn’t you have just told me this months ago? Why did you make me agonise over you, wondering what I could have done, wondering what went wrong—”

“I couldn’t. You’re still only the second person I’ve told. I just… I know it was wrong. I should have been able to tell you, but I couldn’t face it. I know that probably made it worse, but—”

“Yes, it did.” Gwen looked down at his his empty glass and pursed her lips. “Lance knows,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I told him when he came to visit me on the farm.”

“Why did you go to a farm, Arthur?” she asked disbelievingly. “That’s so very unlike you.”

“I needed to get away,” Arthur said truthfully. “I hated myself for what I had done to you.”

“Good.”

Arthur closed his eyes, wondering if they ever really could be civil for Lance’s sake.

Then Gwen hugged him.

Arthur opened his eyes, confused at first, and slowly fitted his arms around her. She smelled like home.

“I wish you had told me,” she said into his chest.

“Me too.”

They stood like that for a long time, holding on to each other and struggling to stay warm.

“Did you know when we got married?” she asked when she pulled back.

“No,” Arthur said truthfully.

“Okay.”

“I am sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about who you are.”

“No,” Arthur agreed. “But I’m sorry that I had to hurt you in the process of being myself.”

Gwen nodded. “Maybe one day I’ll forgive you.”

Arthur had to stop himself from reaching out to push a stray curl behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re happy with Lance.”

“He won’t be happy when he finds out I told you.”

“I would have rather heard it from you,” Arthur admitted. “I could never be mad at you.” Gwen smiled a little, and Arthur returned it, relieved. “Should we go back inside and tell him the bad news?” he asked.

Gwen nodded. “Might as well get it over with.” She held out her hand, and he took it, letting her guide him inside.

He looked around for Lance and nearly tripped over his own feet when, instead, he saw Merlin chatting with Gaius and Alice.

“Arthur?” Gwen asked, concerned that he had stopped walking.

“I—yeah. Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Gwen followed his gaze. Arthur tried to look away, but he was too slow. “Do you know that man?”

“He’s… the farm. It was his farm.”

Gwen looked between them a few times. “Did you…”

“No,” Arthur said quickly. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Then why are you acting like Morgana just caught you naked?”

“I’m—what?” Arthur laughed. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

Gwen smirked. “I’ll go find Lance,” she said, giving him a knowing smile. “Go talk to your farmer.”

“He’s not my farmer,” Arthur protested weakly as she walked away.

Taking a deep breath, he looked back over but found that Gaius and Alice were talking with someone new.

“Arthur?”

Arthur turned to see Merlin approaching him. “Hey,” he said, his heart racing. “Hey. How are you?”

“Good.” Merlin held out his hand for Arthur to shake. “How’re you? How’s your book?”

“Finished,” Arthur said. “First draft, at least.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Arthur wished he still had a drink. “How’s… how’s Aithusa?”

“She misses you,” Merlin teased. “She asks about you every day.”

“That’s… impressive, actually.”

Merlin grinned, and Arthur felt hot all over. He looked good. He cleaned up nice. Instead of his usual practical farm attire or cozy pyjamas, he was wearing nice trousers and a fitted shirt that showed off the muscles he had from years of manual labour. His hair was shorter than it had been before, and his beard was neatly trimmed. His eyes were bright and happy, and all Arthur wanted to do was melt into the floor.

“How’ve you really been?” Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur took a deep breath. “Good. Really good, actually. And I think… I think I owe you an apology.”

Merlin looked surprised. “For what?”

“For that night we—actually, can we go outside?” he asked, seeing Gwen and Lance watching them from near the bookshelves.

“Oh. Okay.” Merlin followed Arthur back out to the garden. “It’s chilly,” he commented.

“I won’t take long. I just wanted to apologise for being… inconsistent, I guess. You caught me at a very weird time in my life, and… and I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I wanted. And I’m sorry if I behaved inappropriately.”

“Arthur, you didn’t do anything,” Merlin said, looking amused. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Perhaps. I’m also sorry I was so distant while I was there. You were a very gracious host, and I was… I was a bit of a prat.”

“No,” Merlin disagreed. “You were there on business. You had every right to keep to yourself while you worked.”

“I was there on holiday,” Arthur said. “I miss your farm.”

Merlin blinked. “You—yeah? Really? You’re welcome back any time. As a guest, I mean. You wouldn’t have to rent out rooms or anything.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said quietly. “I might take you up on that.”

“I’d like that.”

Arthur looked out over the rest of the garden, trying to imagine going back to the farm and not falling back into the same traps as before.

“I saw Lance inside,” Merlin said after a moment.

“Yeah. He’s… he’s with my ex, apparently.”

“With her?”

“Yeah. Like, they’re together.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, his eyes wide. “That sounds awkward.”

Arthur chuckled. “Maybe. I don’t mind. I don’t think I mind, at least. I just found out, but I knew it was coming.”

“Is that why you got divorced?” Merlin asked sympathetically.

“Not even close.” Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets, wishing again that he had a drink. “We split because I’m… it turns out I’m gay. So it didn’t seem right to… you know. Stay married to a woman.”

“Makes sense,” Merlin said, his voice low. “I didn’t realise.”

“Didn’t you?”

Merlin flushed prettily. “Well, I… I wondered. Especially… especially after that night. I wasn’t sure if I was interpreting correctly.”

“You were.” Merlin nodded and they held each other’s gaze for a moment. “So,” Arthur said, louder than necessary. “Um. Should we—”

“I really want to kiss you.”

Arthur gulped. “You… you do?”

“Yes,” Merlin said firmly. “If you want me to.”

“I—yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Arthur nodded and licked his lips nervously. “If you want.”

“I think we both want.” Merlin stepped a little closer, and Arthur inhaled shakily as his personal space was invaded. “Can I…”

“Yes,” Arthur breathed.

Merlin’s gaze dropped to Arthur’s lips, and Arthur couldn’t stand the tension anymore. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Merlin’s in a slow, hesitant kiss.

“Good?” Merlin asked. Arthur nodded, and Merlin dove back in, bypassing slow and hesitant and going straight for hot and needy. He got his hands on Arthur’s neck, and Arthur grabbed his waist, holding him close. “Been waiting forever to do that,” Merlin said when Arthur pulled away.

“Yeah? Since when?”

“Since forever,” Merlin said, smiling. “Since about the first second I met you. Definitely since that day I took you to see the sheep. Desperately since that night with _Titanic_.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed. “Sorry I couldn’t get my act together until now.”

“That’s all right.” Merlin cleared his throat and took a step back. “Have you ever…” He trailed off, looking uncertain.

“The answer is probably no,” Arthur said. “Assuming you’re asking about anything to do with me being gay.”

“You’re… not gay?” Merlin asked, his brow furrowed.

“No, I mean—I mean, yes, I am. I meant if you were, like, asking if I’ve ever…”

“Ever kissed another guy before,” Merlin supplied.

“Right. That. No.”

Merlin nodded. “Okay.”

“Sorry.”

Merlin scoffed. “Please don’t apologise for that.”

“I meant more like… sorry I’m a total mess when it comes to this.” He gestured vaguely between them.

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t care.” He held out his hand, and Arthur took it hesitantly.

Merlin led him around the side of Gaius’s house to a dark spot where they had no chance of being spotted by anyone at the party. Arthur went in for another kiss immediately, pressing Merlin against Gaius’s siding and getting his hands in Merlin’s hair.

Merlin moaned against his lips and slipped his hands around to Arthur’s back. “Arthur,” he said, breaking their kiss far too soon.

“Hm?” Arthur asked, leaning into another kiss.

“I’m freezing.”

Arthur chuckled and stepped back. “Yeah. It’s a bit cold.”

“Just a bit.”

“Do you want to go back inside?”

“I think I have to, otherwise my teeth are going to start chattering.”

“That’s fair.” Arthur brushed his hand against Merlin’s, and Merlin grabbed it. “How long are you in London for?”

“The weekend,” Merlin said. “I’m staying at Gaius’s.”

“Do you want to stay at mine? As a guest, I mean. You wouldn’t have to rent out rooms or anything.”

Merlin sniggered. “That’s very generous of you.” Arthur nodded, waiting for Merlin’s response. “Are you sure? We don’t have to… I don’t want to push for something you’re not ready for.”

“I’m ready,” Arthur said.

“Then how about we get out of here?” Merlin suggested.

**~~~~~~**

Arthur lived in a large flat in a part of London Merlin had never been too before. It had high ceilings, lots of counter space, and an extra bedroom that Arthur had converted into his writing space.

“Wow,” Merlin said once Arthur had given him a quick tour. “This is a really nice space.”

“Thanks. I just moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Really? Were you… did you still live with Gwen before? Is that why you came to the farm?”

“No, I was living in some shit hole that was the only thing I could find on short notice after we split.”

Merlin nodded and looked around again, taking in the artwork and bookshelves and trinkets that Arthur had decorated the space with. 

“I haven’t, um,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin looked over at him. He was flushed all the way down to his collar. “I haven’t been with anyone new since Gwen. So, like… well over a decade.”

Merlin wondered if they were going too fast. “That’s all right. We really don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We don’t have to do anything at all, actually. We can just watch—”

Arthur cut Merlin off with a kiss, and Merlin had a hard time not melting into it. He kissed like he desperately needed it, and Merlin wanted him to have everything.

“I don’t need to go slow,” Arthur said, his lips pressed right to Merlin’s ear. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” Merlin breathed.

Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s back and turned them, pressing Merlin against a wall and kissing him again. Merlin slumped a little, letting Arthur have his way, and tried not to let on how much he wanted to strip Arthur naked and fuck him right then and there.

“Can I…” Arthur trailed off, his fingers hovering near Merlin’s belt.

“Yeah,” Merlin said quickly, reaching down to help. He undid his belt, and Arthur undid his flies, and then Arthur had a hand around Merlin’s cock. “Jesus,” Merlin moaned as Arthur stroked him with a firm grip. “That’s really good.”

“This I know how to do,” Arthur teased before going in for another kiss.

Merlin let Arthur carry on for a while, and then, just as he was about to suggest that it was time for his turn, Arthur finally pushed Merlin’s clothes all the way to the floor.

“I want to taste you,” he said, and Merlin’s cock jerked in his hand.

“Okay,” Merlin said, as if he would ever say no. “Yeah.”

Arthur went in for one last filthy kiss before dropping to his knees. He looked at Merlin’s cock for a moment, and Merlin wondered if he was having second thoughts, but then he moved forward and took in as much of Merlin’s cock as he could.

Merlin let out a shaky sigh and put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, trying to keep things slow. Arthur wasn’t having that, though. He was a very enthusiastic learner, and it didn’t take any time at all for him to be bobbing his head along Merlin’s cock, sucking in earnest and flicking his tongue against the head whenever he pulled back for a breath.

“Arthur,” Merlin warned when Arthur started playing with his balls. “I’m—”

“Mhm,” Arthur said, his mouth stuffed.

Merlin gulped and pushed gently on Arthur’s shoulders, guiding his cock out of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur looked up at him, his lips impossibly red and wet, his eyes a little unfocused, his cheeks flushed with arousal. He was beautiful.

Merlin wrapped a hand around his cock and brought himself off on Arthur’s tongue. Arthur seemed to love it, swallowing everything Merlin had to offer and then licking him clean until he was soft.

“Come here,” Merlin said, pulling slightly on Arthur’s hair. Arthur stood and Merlin kissed him slowly, drawing Arthur’s tongue into his mouth so he could taste himself. “What do you want?” he asked when Arthur started pressing his hips against Merlin’s.

“Anything.”

Merlin stepped out of his clothes and took his shirt off as well, and Arthur quickly stripped himself. He had a broad chest dusted with hair and abs leading down to a darker trailer of hair. Merlin’s eyes followed the path and eyed Arthur’s eager cock, trying to decide what he wanted to do.

“Please,” Arthur whispered, giving himself a few strokes.

Merlin huffed and grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, turning him and shoving him against the wall. He got to his knees and, pushing Arthur’s hand away, pressed a kiss to the tip of Arthur’s cock. Arthur took a deep breath, his hands clenched in fists near his thighs. Merlin opened his mouth and slowly took Arthur in, inch by inch, until his nose was pressed to Arthur’s skin and Arthur’s cock was pressed to the back of his throat.

“Fucking—” Arthur gasped as Merlin swallowed around him. “Fuck, Merlin, I’m—”

Merlin pulled off with a cough and got back up, deciding that he wanted to be able to look at Arthur’s face when he came. He wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock and jerked him roughly, watching Arthur struggle with himself.

Arthur whimpered a little and leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes shut tight and his mouth parted as he panted. He looked close.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, speeding up his hand. “Look at me.”

Arthur swallowed heavily and opened his eyes. Merlin smiled and nipped at the tip of his nose before going in for a kiss. He tightened his grip a little, using his other hand to reach around and grab Arthur’s arse, and that was all it took. Arthur inhaled sharply, rising up on his toes, and Merlin leaned back to watch. His features were twisted, he was biting down on his lip to keep from making noise, and he looked in utter bliss.

“Shit,” Arthur breathed as Merlin continued stroking him. “Okay, okay.” He reached down, moving Merlin’s hands to his hips instead.

Merlin smirked and licked across Arthur’s lower lip. “How was that?”

“Perfect,” Arthur said before wrapping his arms around Merlin’s back and dragging him in for a kiss.

Merlin chuckled and pulled back. “Perfect, huh?” Arthur nodded, and Merlin looked down at the mess between them. “Don’t suppose you’d like to take a perfect shower?”

Arthur’s whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll even introduce you to rimming.”

Arthur’s jaw went slack. “You—”

Merlin cut him off with a long, tongue-heavy kiss. “Come on,” he whispered, grabbing Arthur’s hand, and Arthur let him lead the way.

**~~~~~~**

Arthur woke up to the strange yet utterly familiar sound of someone else breathing nearby. He lifted his head, confused for a moment until he saw Merlin splayed out across his bed. Merlin slept like he ate, which was to say—messily. He had one arm dropped off the edge of the bed, one foot hooked over Arthur’s ankle, one hand lost somewhere beneath the pillows, and his mouth was hanging open in a very unattractive way.

Except that Arthur didn’t think it was all that unattractive. He shifted, rolling out from under Merlin’s foot, and Merlin snorted himself awake.

“Where—oh.” He gave Arthur the most beautifully dopey grin. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Arthur echoed, rolling back over for a kiss. Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s back, tugging Arthur on top of him. “I’m crushing you,” Arthur protested.

“I don’t care,” Merlin said, his voice a little breathy from all the weight on his chest.

“I care. I’d rather not flatten you to death.” Merlin chuckled huskily and let Arthur off him. As a compromise, he turned onto his side and pulled Arthur’s arm over him, forcing Arthur to spoon up behind him. “You’re very demanding this morning,” Arthur commented.

“You were demanding last night,” Merlin teased.

Arthur felt himself going red. “I wasn’t demanding, I was—”

“Very keen.”

“Well—”

“Extremely needy,” Merlin continued.

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” Arthur muttered.

Merlin chuckled and pressed a kiss to the back of Arthur’s hand. “No,” he agreed. “I quite liked it.”

Arthur pressed his nose to Merlin’s ear and tried to stay in the moment, but it was difficult not to think about what came next. “When do you leave?” he asked quietly, as if they could sneak around it.

“Tomorrow,” Merlin answered after a pause.

“I wish you lived closer,” Arthur admitted.

“I wish you lived closer,” Merlin echoed. “But…”

“But?”

“I used to come to London more often. Once a month, nearly. At least once every other month.”

“Oh? Why’d you stop?”

There was another pause. “We broke up.”

Arthur bit his lip. “So…”

“So, I’m saying that… if you wanted to, we could probably make this work.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you want.”

“I want you,” Arthur said, hooking his chin over Merlin’s shoulder and giving him an awkward, lopsided kiss on the cheek. “And I can come visit the farm. My schedule is more flexible.”

“And you still owe me a signed book. You’d brave all those smells just for me, though?” Merlin teased.

“I got quite used to the smells,” Arthur said. “And to you.” Merlin tugged Arthur closer. “Do you want breakfast?”

“What do you have?”

“I could probably whip up some eggs. I might have beans for toast. I think I have some apples.”

“That sounds good,” Merlin said, but he didn’t move to get up. And, after a while, he started rocking his arse back against Arthur’s hips.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, laughing at the seduction attempt.

“Nothing,” Merlin said innocently. “Just stretching.”

“That’s a very odd stretch,” Arthur commented. He slid his hand down and cupped Merlin’s half-hard cock. “Which bits are you stretching, exactly?”

“The important ones.”

Arthur grinned and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s bare shoulder. Merlin wiggled out of Arthur’s grip and sat up to pull off Arthur’s pyjama bottoms. Arthur was barely hard, but Merlin immediately ducked down to start kissing around his cock, and it wasn’t long before Arthur was panting and straining against Merlin’s mouth.

“Come on,” he breathed, lifting his hips against Merlin’s teasing lips. “Are you going to do this or not?”

Merlin looked up, his cheeks flushed, and smiled wickedly. Arthur dropped his gaze and saw that Merlin was jerking himself off inside the briefs he’d borrowed. Arthur’s mouth went dry at the sight, and his cock jerked a little against Merlin’s chin.

“Do you like to watch?” Merlin asked, sitting up a little.

Arthur nodded, and Merlin hurried to get naked. He sat himself on Arthur’s thighs and continued, showing off his long fingers and delicate wrist and fat cock. Arthur watched for as long as he could stand, and then he reached for his own cock.

They moved together for a while, Arthur completely rapt, until Merlin leaned down for a kiss and their hands and cocks knocked together. Merlin pushed Arthur’s hand away and took both of their cocks in his grip, jerking them off together.

Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s arse, and they rocked their hips together until Merlin’s lips went slack against Arthur’s.

“Arthur,” he breathed, tightening his grip on them both.

The thought of Merlin about to come pushed Arthur over the edge, and he bucked, groaning and gripping Merlin’s arse harshly. Merlin stroked Arthur through it until Arthur shifted, pushing his hand away, and then he sat up and brought himself off in full glorious view of Arthur. He shook when he came, his head tossed back in pleasure and his chest splotched red, and Arthur held onto his thighs to help keep him upright.

“Jesus,” Arthur moaned when Merlin slumped, panting.

Merlin smirked and collapsed to the side, still trying to catch his breath. “I agree.”

Arthur rolled over and pulled Merlin in for a kiss. “You’re brilliant.”

“Nah. I’m just very gay.”

Arthur sniggered and gave him another kiss. “And very weird.”

“Sometimes.”

“Most times,” Arthur insisted. “I like it, though.”

“You’d better.”

“Rest assured, I do. Don’t let it get to your head, though.”

Merlin grinned, ran his hand through Arthur’s hair, and took a deep breath. “You really want to try to make this work?”

“I do. If you do.”

Merlin nodded, and Arthur gave him a long kiss. “I have two questions, though.”

“What are they?” Arthur prompted.

“They’re not happy questions.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Merlin licked his lips and continued playing with Arthur’s hair. “When Lance was visiting, I heard you arguing about something that had happened between you and Gwen. I’m just… wondering if there’s anything serious I need to know about.”

Arthur frowned and rolled onto his back. He didn’t want to talk about it—he never wanted to talk about it—but he knew it would have to come up at some point. It was part of his story, and if he and Merlin were really going to make a go of this, maybe he should come clean with everything up front.

“We were—she was…” Arthur sighed and tried again. “She miscarried.”

“Oh,” Merlin said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” There was an achingly long moment of silence between them. “It was the worst day of my life,” Arthur said. “But it… it pushed me to make the decision I don’t think I ever would have made otherwise.”

“To leave?”

Arthur nodded. “To leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, reaching for Arthur’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “That sounds awful.”

“It was.” Arthur sighed again, ready for the conversation to be over. “What was your second question?”

“Um,” Merlin said, and when Arthur looked over he was blushing. “Your book bios. They mention a dog.”

“Gwen kept the dog,” Arthur said. “He liked her better than me.”

“Do you think you’ll get another one?”

“Might do. It is… painfully lonely being here by myself sometimes.”

“You should get a dog,” Merlin said firmly. “You could bring it to the farm when you visited.”

Arthur smiled and let Merlin pull him in for a soft kiss.

**~~~~~~**

Merlin heard the car door slam and hurried to wash his hands so they wouldn’t smell too much of onion. Wiping them on his jeans and abandoning the dinner preparations, he rushed out of the kitchen, through the mud room, and outside.

Arthur was there, getting out of his car, the sun shining romantically on his golden hair and making him look radiant. Or maybe it was his smile, which widened impossibly when he caught sight of Merlin.

“Hey,” he said, giving a wave.

“Hey yourself.” Merlin rounded the front of the car and pulled Arthur in for a hard kiss. “Missed you.”

Arthur grinned and dug his hands into the back pockets of Merlin’s jeans. “Missed you more.”

Annis, Arthur’s dog, scratched at the back windows of the car, making pathetic noises.

“All right, all right,” Arthur said, stepping away to let her out. She ran straight for the stables to say hello to the horses.

Merlin chuckled and tugged Arthur closer for a proper hug. “How was your trip?”

“As good as a trip can be with that one drooling all over the place.” Arthur slipped his hands back into Merlin’s pockets and leaned in for a long kiss.

“OI,” Gwaine hollered from the stables, “GET A ROOM.”

“Excellent idea,” Merlin said, pulling Arthur’s hands out and leading him inside.


End file.
